


Getaway Car

by nirvhannahcornell (josiebelladonna)



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Kidnapping, Bank Robbery, Banter, Bickering, Don't Judge Me, Gen, Girls with Guns, Kidnapping, Murphy's Law, Pacific Northwest, Stockholm Syndrome, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22730695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiebelladonna/pseuds/nirvhannahcornell
Summary: Richard went looking for trouble yesterday in St. Helens, but neither of them expected to actually find her.
Kudos: 4





	Getaway Car

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little deviation into something very near and dear to me. Named for the Audioslave song 💜
> 
> _”The first time I saw you,  
>  you were chasing down  
> a cyclone all alone in a field.  
> With rail yards and clovers,  
> I kept rolling on and never thought  
> you’d wind up chasing me.”_

“CLARKSON!”

Richard’s high pitched scratchy voice sliced through the silent, Cascade morning as he found out what had just happened overnight. James hurried out of their quaint hotel to see what was the matter: Richard had just left the lobby in hopes of a head start on the road into the heart of the Cascade Volcanoes when he noticed the roof of his little blue Fiat had been sliced clean off. Probably payback from yesterday’s nonsense of driving in circles around St. Helens with an inability to find the road to the mouth of the Columbia River.

“Clarkson!” Richard repeated, stripping off his knit cap from his little black head for a better look at the sight before him. “Where’s! My! Roof!”

“Surely, it can’t be that bad, mate,” James assured him, taking a glimpse up at the cold morning sky overhead. Sparing no expense, Richard climbed into the front seat with his keys in hand. He fired up the engine and shifted into reverse to back out of the space, when a cacophonous crunch stopped him in place.

“That was it,” he grumbled, “that was it, wasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” James replied, struggling and failing to stifle a laugh; he bowed his head and brought a hand to his bow-shaped mouth; some of his wispy light tendrils of curly hair dangled down on either side of his head.

“So I’ve gotta—“ Richard continued on backwards, which thus split the severed roof in two, and albeit with a further crunch of metal underneath the tires. “—drive like this—all the way down to—the San Joaquin Valley—like this?”

“You might need your cap, Hammond,” James pointed out, nonplussed and with his hands tucked in his jeans pockets. “It’s supposed to rain in an hour or or two.” He took a glimpse up at the sky and the few pillowy gray clouds forming against the otherwise rich steely blue tapestry overhead. This was the mountains of Oregon: the sun would shine bright for a little while but within an hour’s time, rain and heavy snow followed suit in unrelenting fashion.

Within time, Jeremy joined them in his boxy, minute red Volvo while James followed along in a sleek black Cadillac that may or may not have been a hearse at one point: its vast back end with enough room for a small casket, or perhaps a case of beer if any of them were willing. It was going to be a long trip after all, the venture from the base of Mount St. Helens in southern Washington to the lava pits of Mount Lassen in Northern California. This was their first time filming in the Pacific Northwest and with each mile, the three of them each knew this wouldn’t be their last.

“Spectacular,” Jeremy declared in awe at the sight of the vast desert hinterlands on the eastern side of Mount Bachelor; the mountains themselves meanwhile carried a white blanket of fresh fallen snow over their lush evergreen forests. Even with it being springtime, the snow remained firmly in wintertime, much to Richard’s chagrin.

As they approached Bend, and about ninety miles from Crater Lake, he pulled over to the side of the road, killed the engine, and bowed his head in between his legs. His knit cap had proven useless.

James, who rode right behind him, rolled up next to his passenger side window.

“Are you alright?” he called out.

“I am absolutely freezing, mate,” Richard confessed. “I can’t take it.”

“Well—come on in, I have heat.” Shivering at such a violent and alarming rate, Richard slid out of the driver’s seat and almost crawled around the shiny front end of James’ hearse. He slipped into the back seat on the driver’s side with his arms folded over his chest while James turned up the heater dial to full blast.

And with Richard’s roof missing, and eventually Jeremy’s fuel pump behaving such that he couldn’t hardly pass by a service station, there was no way they could carry this challenge out with three vehicles. Once they reached Bend, James offered Jeremy a ride in the front seat there next to him. At the point, the clouds began to collect around the summit of Mount Bachelor, which meant they had narrowly escaped a Cascade blizzard.

Before they could leave the quiet service station on the north end of town, Richard spotted someone, a woman, running in their direction.

“James, look out!” he called out. But it was too late: this young blonde lady flung open the back door next to Richard and climbed into the seat. She wore all black from head to toe, including a black glittering Mardi Gras mask over her face.

“I’m stealing this car,” she snarled at them.

“You and what army?” demanded Jeremy. Without hesitation, she unsheathed a small steely black revolver from her hip and pointed it right at James’ neck. He gasped at the cold metal upon his skin. Richard clasped his hands to his mouth to keep himself from screaming, or puking.

“You’re gonna listen,” she continued in a hushed voice. “And you’re gonna do as I say and no one is gonna get hurt.”

Jeremy peered over at James and Richard there next to him: both of them with wide-eyed looks of apprehension upon their faces. They had just planned on driving along the spine of Oregon for a new episode, a new adventure, with nothing more than the usual shenanigans. But this was something else. Richard went looking for trouble yesterday in St. Helens, but neither of them expected to actually find her.

“Okay,” Jeremy said finally, his voice breaking the stunned silence in the car. “Go ahead. Better do as she says, James.”


End file.
